mermaid . in missouri

Testing the Waters in Missouri

I'd never been to Missouri and so I really had no expectations about what I would find. I had such a good time at my last campsite in Kentucky, though, that I decided to make a reservation at another state park, this time on the Cuivre River.

I passed uneventfully through the rest of western Kentucky. The city of St. Louis, (except for its signature arch) seemed an unending serpentine stretch of the same-old-same-old businesses and buildings you see everywhere. Everywhere is Everywhere Now. I had no desire to stop and was elated when the city finally dwindled away and I was back out into the countryside at last.

At first the route to the campground did not look very promising. It was scruffy country, not too interesting—a few straggly wildflowers and one rundown combination filling station/store along the way, with no indication of the pleasures that lay ahead.

But once I turned off the highway, the drive into Cuivre River State Park, near Troy, Missouri, was simply lovely, with gentle, winding hills of open, light-filled woodlands. My entire mood changed, and a sense of joyful expectation erased all of my road fatigue.

I pulled into the campsite, which I now know is somewhat typical of RV parks in the sense that there were already a lot of rigs there, lined up like sardines, some with American flags flying and country music playing balefully in the background. This was not my idea of sequestering myself in nature, but for these first few forays they were places to pitch my tent in relative safety while I explored the countryside. They had electric access and water pumps at each site. And bathhouses. Hot water! Pretty plush for camping!

My campsite had little shade, in fact it was out in the baking, blazing sun. It was already 95 degrees while I was setting up and I think I was close to having heat stroke, for when I glanced in my car mirror, my face was fire-engine red and I was feeling faint despite practically inhaling bottles of water. I threw all my sleeping gear in the tent, pulled on my suit and headed to the water.

The Beach Area at Cuivre River

There was a charming swimming beach just moments from my door where the Cuivre River eddied in to a smallish bay, surrounded by lush green woodland and a plentitude of birds. The water was murky green and warm near shore, but that didn't deter me. I dove in and paddled out under that cornflower blue sky out to where the deeper coolness caressed my tired feet and the turtles poked their heads up, curious and shy. I swam about happy as could be for several hours until the sun began to dip down. I felt like a re-baptized baby and emerged at last in a state of indescribable bliss.

When I got back to my tent, the "camp host" happened by. These hosts were typically elderly people on hand to answer questions and this one was as helpful as could be. I asked him about possibly moving my campsite to a shadier spot. He consulted his registry. Sure 'nuf, he confirmed. He pointed out a few potential places and although it seemed shameful to be reduplicating my efforts, before long, I had everything set up again under some nice shady trees.

Ahhh! I made a cocktail and had a little snack and crawled into my tent feeling all nice and toasty from being on the water for so long. I was exhausted in a way that only being out in the fresh air can make one. After my long day on the road, I fell into a mind-numbing slumber. In fact, I don't even remember going to sleep. I must have really been tired!

The next day was as close to perfection as I could imagine. It promised to be another scorcher and the park attendant suggested a walk up Big Sugar Creek as a way to cool off. I took her advice and found the creek easily thanks to her good directions. It was as idyllic a place as she'd described, with cool, cold water, sometimes waist deep that invited you to stroll upstream. I was the only person there, which I later discovered was almost unheard of. I walked the creek about a half a mile, accompanied by minnows, crawfish and waterstriders, admiring the stones on the creek bottom and that littered the shore. Many were embedded with fossils and they were of many colors and shapes, quite fascinating.

I later learned what a treasure this area is, a combination of woodland, prairie and savanna, with rare species such as the cerulean warbler, ringed salamander, false yellow mallow, eastern blazing star and buffalo clover, that call it home, to name a few.

Big Sugar Creek

The creek glimmered and gurgled along, giving way to deep green freshets and shallow rapids that rushed along their sandy, stony paths and issued a most happy childlike sound. I came to what looked like a rounded bowl of water that looked exceptionally deep. A swimming hole. I was so delighted!  hadn't seen one of these since I was a teenager roaming around the edges of Knickerbocker farm in upstate New York. The hole was as wide as it was deep. A fish flipped up and over near the far bank. Five-inch long fingerlings ventured up to nibble at my fingers.

The Swimming Hole

It seemed a most sacred place. I glided into the water softly, not wanting to disturb the ancient green quiet, the absolute serenity. I watched the birds bobbing about in the trees. I listened to the cries of animals coming from deep within the wood. I felt the cold water embracing me, tightening my skin, cooling my blood. And I floated like this for what seemed like hours, a mermaid in a dream. As I made my way back downstream, I wondered if I would ever have such an experience like that again. I felt blessed beyond belief.

Back at camp, new next door neighbors had appeared. They were a very nice family with young kids and thankfully the music they played was enjoyable and they were very pleasant to be around. I hadn't realized until that moment, though, that people came to campgrounds like this to socialize and party. It was the weekend after all and it was really an expected part of campground culture. I suddenly realized that I'd been spoiled by the the solitude and quietude I'd experienced earlier, but this sense of communal and festive fun was fine too.

I should mention that in all of my camping experiences thus far, I was the only one in a tent. The rest of the people were in everything from small, modest RVs to monster rigs almost as long as a city block. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but many of these vehicles probably cost around $250,000, which seemed somewhat out of proportion given that camp fees are generally about $25 a night. A word about that. $25 a night! Where in the world can you stay, surrounded by the most beautiful country imaginable, for $25 a night? And with water and electricity, hot showers, a camp store that doesn't charge an arm and a leg? State parks, that's where! I'm totally a fan!

We had a big thunderstorm storm blow in that night. In my haste to batten down the hatches, I left my cooler outside the tent. Bad move. The raccoons arrived at 3:00, mewling like a pack of cats, and tore the cooler up and ate all my perishable food. I had to ditch everything else that remained and then disinfect the cooler -- one mistake I won't make again! It totally freaked me out to have them just outside the tent door as they sounded very aggressive. They weren't about to get my lemon creme cookies, though. I had bear spray at the ready! Sleep after that was all but impossible as I was on guard the rest of the night for their possible return.

I had one more day on the water, blissfully paddling about and one more day hiking Sugar Creek and by nightfall I felt like the luckiest duck alive. I sat and wrote for a long while, made myself from dinner, (lunch turned out to be an indulgence—an old-fashioned ice cream sandwich from the camp store. OMG! So good!) and when I turned in, I slept like the proverbial log. I must have really been out, for in the morning my neighbors told me that I'd missed some good fuel for my blog. Fuel? What fuel? Apparently, late in the evening a couple in one of the campsites had gotten into a huge argument (probably having had a bit too much "fire water" my neighbor observed.) The woman had fled on foot, with their baby, and had made such a ruckus that the park ranger was called in to settle things down.

I hadn't a clue. I was off in zzzz-land while it this campground drama transpired. Rats! Missed it!

When I finally broke camp and said my goodbyes, I shed a small tear for my time in Missouri. It had been a wonderful pause in my travels, where I had really slowed down and taken in all that the sun and sky and wind and water had to offer. I'd been returned, temporarily, to a childlike state, a true gift. Now I would be on the road again, heading to a completely different landscape—the place of my birth out on the tallgrass prairie—in the great state of Kansas.

May You, Too, Find Your Own Sacred Places,

Karen